Two Miles North of Winter
by scribblingfortheheckofit
Summary: "Please? Tell us a story?" "Which one? There are as many stories as there are flowers in your garden." A retelling of The Snow Queen with the Hetalia cast. Except it's also a retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon, and maybe a few others. Human names, human AU.
1. Of a Mirror and its Pieces

Of a Mirror and its Pieces

Once upon a time, there was a young man who dealt in magic, and many were wary of him. He did not understand why, but when he tried to look in his mother's old mirror, he had no reflection. This upset the man, so he went about creating a new mirror.

This was no ordinary mirror, however, for he had put much of his magic into its creation. In this mirror, every fault in the reflected image was magnified, and every virtue diminished to the point of invisibility. When he held the mirror to reflect the forest around his home, he saw the dead leaves and the rotting wood of the old trees, and the bloody carcasses that predators had left behind, but none of the birds or the flowers. When he turned the mirror upon one of the loveliest girls in the village, he saw not her charm and grace but the mole on her neck, which seemed to take over a goodly portion of her face.

But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw only himself, with his red hair and his blue eyes, and with longer, pointed teeth.

The man was confused, but let it pass. If his flaw was being who he was, then there was nothing to be done. "That is not a fault of mine," he said to himself, "But a fault of the world."

Then he began to wonder what the other faults of the world were. "If I fly the mirror up high enough into the sky," he wondered, "Would it reflect the whole world? I shall try it and see." And try he did. With his magic, he gave himself the wings of a raven, and flew up as far as he could go, and further.

He had started not long after sunset, but he flew through the night, and when the sun came up it burned at his skin and set his feathered wings alight with a white fire. Howling in pain, he lost his grip on the mirror, and it fell to the Earth and shattered into more pieces than anyone could imagine.

When the young man discovered this, he was saddened, for he knew that he had unleashed a great evil on the world. Some of the pieces of his mirror may have been too small to see, but they each had within them all the power that the whole mirror had. So if a splinter found its way into the glass of a windowpane, through that glass one would see only the ugly parts of the landscape, and never ones friends. If a piece was made into spectacles, the person looking though them would see the same ugliness that had been reflected in the mirror. The man felt his heart ache for these people.

But worse were the smallest grains of the mirror, which were taken up on the wind and blown all around the world. Some of these pieces blew into the eyes of men and stayed, and thereafter these people could see only the evil and twisted ways of the world, and turned bitter and cruel. Other bits flew into men's hearts, and the moment that happened even the most loving heart was frozen into a lump of ice.

The man wept for these poor people, who had come to evil by his doing, and he could only hope for their sake that the world was not as flawed as he had once wondered.


	2. Of a Little Boy and a Little Girl

Of a Little Boy and a Little Girl

In a small town near a different forest lived a little girl, who desperately wanted a garden but had no place to put it. Her father had little land, so he planted his fields almost up to their doorstep, and the path to their house was sheltered in the summer by the tall corn. There was another path out the back-door that the little girl used to go out to play in the trees.

It was while she was out playing that she met a little boy, with strange silver hair and red eyes, who pulled her hair and teased her almost constantly. She almost despaired of him completely, until one day as she played, she ran afoul of a lone wolf, who was starving and desperate for its next meal. The little girl had nothing to defend herself with except a small stick, and was sure she would be eaten, when the strange boy leaped in front of her and killed the wolf with the knife he carried. He turned to her immediately, picked her up off the ground and asked, "Are you alright?"

"I could have saved myself," she said, looking at him with her wide green eyes. "You didn't have to kill it."

The boy laughed loudly at this, and said, "If I hadn't, it would have been in pain for days, and tried to eat some other little girl." She shrugged, because she hadn't thought of it that way, and then blinked at him as he held out a hand. "I'm Gilbert."

"My name is Elizabeta," she said, and when she took his hand and squeezed it as hard as she could, he grinned. "Thank you for saving me."

He laughed at her thanks, pulled her brown ponytail again, and helped her home, and from that day on she knew his teasing was not out of spite but out of love.

Elizabeta went out into the forest every day with Gilbert. They would play as knights, or great heroes when Gilbert wanted, and sometimes Elizabeta even let him win their play fights. He helped her plant a small garden of wild flowers in a sunny corner of a clearing, and tended it with her more gently than she expected him to. Sometimes she brought books with her, and they would sit under a tree and read and look at the pictures.

One day, they were laying in the sun after a long morning of running about defending their kingdom, and Elizabeta started singing the lullaby her grandmother sang to her when it stormed. It was a simple melody, and told of the coming spring, and Gilbert could only smile at it, even though her voice wavered and went a bit off pitch. A few days later, when she was tired from staying up with her grandmother to help with the mending, Gilbert sang the same song to her, and tucked one of her wildflowers behind her ear while she fell asleep with her head in his lap.

"Where do you live, Gilbert?" Elizabeta asked on a different day. "And why do you always come here to play with me?"

"My grandfather is teaching my baby brother to talk," Gilbert said. "When he is older, I will bring him with me, but for now grandfather does not have time for both of us and his work. So I come here."

When the first snow fell that winter, Elizabeta's grandmother told her she could not go out to play, and the girl fought and fought to get to the door. She was not allowed out, but only a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Grandmother opened it to find a cold and snow-covered Gilbert on the step, and bundled him inside without a word. Elizabeta wrapped him in her favorite blanket, and grandmother made them both hot chocolate, and they sat together in front of the fire, looking out the window at the snow.

"They are the snow bees, who swarm in the cold and make ice for their honey," grandmother said as she put a tray of cookies into the oven.

"Do they choose a queen, like the bees of the forest?" Gilbert asked, for he had stolen honey from many bees in his short life, and knew their habits well.

The old grandmother smiled and nodded, and Gilbert grinned widely back at her. "She is the largest, and stays in the thickest of swarms. She has never been welcomed on the earth, but sometimes she likes to peep in the windows and see what we people do. And when she leaves, the windows are frozen with beautiful pictures."

"She sounds so lonely," Elizabeta said, peering again out the window. "Can we let her in?"

"Oh, don't. She has frozen me today," Gilbert told his friend spitefully. "If she comes inside, I'll put her on the stove and melt her."

Elizabeta just hugged him, ignoring the pink flush that bloomed on his cheeks, and grandmother smiled ant told another story.

He came by every day of that winter. "Why do you not stay home, Gilbert?" Elizabeta asked him one day. "Would you not be warm there?"

"My grandfather is teaching by baby brother to read," Gilbert said. "He has work to do as well, and has no time to take care of me."

"Does your brother not miss you?" Elizabeta asked him, for she had no brothers or sisters and did not know.

"I go home to him every night, and tell him the stories that your grandmother tells us," he said, smiling fondly at the old woman as she flipped the pancakes he had requested yet again. "He knows that I love him, and you would miss me if I didn't come."

Elizabeta shoved him lightly, but didn't argue, and they curled up together by the fire to hear another tale.

A few years later, when they were allowed to go out and play in the snow, a storm blew up unexpectedly. Gilbert and Elizabeta clung desperately to one another, for they could not see to find their way through the snow, and curled up to try to stay warm. But Snow Queen had looked in their windows, and she wanted them to come and live with her instead, so she could always hear their laughter.

It was Gilbert who first recognized her, with her long white hair and dress, and her ice blue eyes. He stared back at her, holding Elizabeta even closer, and called out, "What do you want with us?"

"I only want you to come home with me," she said, her smile deceptively sweet. She was a cold, with only a bit of ice for a heart, and did not understand why they would not want to go with her. "You will likely die if you don't."

Elizabeta shivered to hear her voice, and whispered up into Gilbert's ear, "Don't go. She'll freeze you to death if you go."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, just once, before he let her go and stepped towards the Snow Queen. "I will go with you," he said, "As long as you let Elizabeta go home safely." The wind snatched his words away from him, so that Elizabeta could not hear, but the Snow Queen heard. She nodded once, and guided Gilbert to her silver sleigh.

Elizabeta was left alone in the snow, tired and mournful and confused, and barely made it back to the edge of her father's field before she collapsed from the cold.

She woke in the home of the town's doctor, with his son Roderich beside her bed holding a bowl of soup for her. He blinked owlishly at her for a moment from behind his spectacles, and she couldn't help but wish to herself that his violet eyes were the bright red ones she was used to.

"Your father brought you here after he found you," Roderich told her, "And my father will make you well again. But your fingers and toes were so frozen that it will take some time. You're lucky to be alive at all." Elizabeta nodded, and let him feed her when she discovered her own fingers were too stiff to hold a spoon. For the next few days, Roderich and his father took care of her, and she became friends with the boy.

It was different than her friendship with Gilbert, for Roderich was polite and never spoke even a joking word against her. He did not hug her as the other boy had, but when she cried for her lost friend, he always had comforting words and a kind smile for her. She told him about her wildflowers in the forest and he immediately spoke to his father, who gave her a small bit of their land on which to grow a proper garden. Roderich played his piano while she tended it, and her rosebushes grew tall and strong. He taught her how to be a proper lady like his mother, who Elizabeta admired greatly, and how to play the little lullaby she had grown to love so much on his piano. He brought her gifts as they grew older, and she came to love him very much.

When she reached the age of twenty, he asked her to be his wife, and she accepted with a wide smile. They planned to be married the following spring, and Elizabeta's grandmother smiled at the news, though there was still a small shadow in her old eyes, as she heard the north wind blow cold past the window.

It was only a few days afterwards that, while they were out walking together, Roderich stopped for a moment and put a hand to his eye, which had gone quite red behind his spectacles. "What is it?" Elizabeta asked in a worried voice, "Are you hurt?"

"A piece of dust must have blown into my eye," he said, blinking a few times before looking down at her. "It is gone now." A moment later, though he said nothing of it, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as well.

He pushed Elizabeta away from him, and walked back to his home alone. When she went to see what was the matter, his father said that he did not appear to be ill, but he had been playing the piano ever since he came home.

The good doctor was wrong, for something was very much amiss with his son, but it was not his fault. It was a piece of the magic mirror that had blown into his eye, and another had found its way into his heart, freezing it to ice. Elizabeta and the doctor listened as Roderich played every note of a complicated sonata perfectly, but without any emotion whatsoever, and sighed.

The next day, in the few moments he took away from his music, he came outside and told Elizabeta that her roses were infested with insects, and that they were not all that lovely anyway. When the pair joined his mother for tea, he criticized her manner and made condescending remarks about her father until even his mother told him sharply to hold his tongue. Elizabeta merely looked away, wondering what she had done to displease him so.

"It is not you, my darling," her grandmother told her. "You are just as wonderful as ever."

"But then what else could it be?" Elizabeta asked, and her grandmother had no answer for her, only a sad smile.

When winter came Roderich was much the same. He would play the piano until his fingers hurt, then eat alone, unless someone was willing to sit with him and endure his biting remarks. This was most often Elizabeta, who still loved him despite his cruel words.

One day, she found him in the window during tea time, looking at snowflakes through a magnifying glass. "Look at them, Elizabeta," he said, though he did not offer her the glass. "Are they not beautiful? They would be perfection, if they didn't melt. If only the whole world could be like these snowflakes."

After that, he took to walking by himself during their mealtimes, and eating at odd hours, and sleeping very little. He would go out into storms even when Elizabeta begged him not to, and ignored her attempts to warm him when he came back. When the worst storm of the winter came, he still put on his coat and went out walking, though again his fiancée begged him to stay inside with her.

On this walk, he happened upon a young woman in a fur coat of perfect white, with long white hair tied in a white bow, standing next to a beautiful sleigh. "Are you in need of assistance, madam?" he asked, for she was the first beautiful thing he had seen in quite some time, and he was eager to make a good impression.

"My sleigh is stuck," she said with a small smile. "I need someone strong and clever to help me free it."

"I may not be as strong as some," Roderich replied with a small bow, "But I am as clever as they come and at your service."

The Snow Queen, for that was who she was, smiled as she saw his frozen heart. She accepted his help and together they pushed her sleigh out of the snowdrift it had been caught in. She thanked him for his help, which she had not really needed, and he bowed once more to her before turning towards home.

"Wait," she said, calling his attention back. "Are you cold, Roderich?"

He did not question how she knew his name, though he might have at any other time. Instead, he nodded, and stepped into her embrace when she held out her arms. The fur of her coat was warm around him, but he still felt cold on the inside, so he continued to shiver. The Snow Queen wrapped her arms tighter around him, and when he still didn't stop, pressed a kiss to his lips.

In the moment that she kissed him, Roderich felt as cold as ice all through his body and a strange silence in his soul, and was certain he was going to die. But then she let him go, and her eyes met his, and suddenly he felt no more bite in the wind, and no more chill in the snow. He shook his head slowly, and smiled just a bit.

"Come with me," she said. "I can take you to a place where even you will find only beauty." She held out a hand, and Roderich hesitated only a moment before taking it, and following her into the sleigh. As the snowflakes lifted the sleigh off the ground and away into the sky, she leaned over and kissed him again, and in that moment he forgot his family, and Elizabeta, and everyone in the town.

When she pulled away, he looked at her with shining eyes, only to be told, "Now, you may have no more kisses. Any more and I might kiss you to death."

He nodded, even though he did not understand, and turned to watch the scenery below them fly by. When he saw nothing as lovely as the Snow Queen there, he looked up instead at the bright moon, which was now visible as they flew above the storm, and found it pleasing enough. And so he sat in the Snow Queen's sleigh, watching the silver moon until he fell asleep.

Elizabeta waited all night for him to return, and it wasn't until the clock struck midnight that she began to cry. At that moment, she knew in her heart that he would not come back, and as she cried the north wind wailed with her, whipping around the house until the storm blew itself out.


	3. Of a Garden and the Man Who Lived There

Of the Flower-Garden and the Man Who Lived There

The town mourned the loss of Roderich, for no one knew where he had gone, only that he had been out in the storm. When the snow melted and spring came, they buried an empty coffin for him, as even the doctor said that no man could have survived the storm, and if his son had, he would have come home.

Elizabeta wept bitterly for him, and often ran to the forest she had known as a child to be alone, and away from the pity of the townsfolk. Only her grandmother could comfort her.

"He is dead and gone," Elizabeta had told her grandmother, but the old woman merely shook her head. She went to plant flowers on Roderich's grave, but they would not grow, no matter what she did, and the mourning doves that lived nearby cooed their disapproval and quiet disbelief.

After many weeks of this, Elizabeta started to believe that he was not dead after all, and she went to her grandmother to tell her she was going to look for him. The elderly woman was fast asleep in her chair, sitting in a ray of sunlight, so Elizabeta kissed her and left one of her reddest roses in the woman's hands. She then pulled on the good boots that she only wore when she gardened, pinned up her long hair, and left.

She went to the river that ran through the forest, where she had first learned to swim, and called out, "If you know where my Roderich is, than tell me! Did you take him away?" The little river burbled playfully over the rocks on its bottom, but gave no answer. "I will give you my good boots, if you can tell me where he is." She took the boots off, and threw them into the water, but there was still no answer. For a moment, Elizabeta paused, twisting the ring he had given her around her finger.

"If I jump in myself, will you take me to him?" she asked, and though the river could not answer her, there was a determined glint in her eye. She dove into the river after her boots, and let the water carry her along, moving just enough to keep herself afloat.

The river was swollen with snowmelt, though, and was colder than she had thought. As the river carried her, Elizabeta grew colder and colder, and panicked a little as she felt herself becoming more and more sluggish in the water. The pins were pulled out of her hair and lost, so that the long strands tangled around her, heavy with water. Just as she knew she had to get out or face drowning in her exhaustion, she heard a voice scream, "Ludwig! Help, there's someone in the river!"

Moments later, a pair of warm and strong arms were wrapped around her, lifting her up and out of the river and carrying her to shore, and she was tempted to just fall asleep there. But a bright smiling face appeared in front of her, with wide brown eyes and a mop of coppery-brown hair, and said, "Ve, Ludwig, she's pretty!"

"I suppose." This voice was much deeper, and rumbled through the body that held her. "Go find her something dry to wear, ja?"

With an energetic affirmative, the first man skipped off, and Elizabeta felt her rescuer moving again. She looked up at him, and was met with a pair of eyes so blue it was almost shocking. "I can walk," she said, squirming a little in his grasp, and he nodded silently before placing her gently on the ground. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"You are welcome," he said. The two stood in slightly awkward silence until a shriek came from the house. He ran a hand through the strands of blond hair that were falling into his face, and sighed. "I should probably go and see what he's done now."

Elizabeta followed the man silently through the gate, closing it behind her without noticing, and her eyes lit up on seeing the garden. The man, Ludwig, opened the door and held it for her, so she stepped inside and stood uncomfortably in the middle of a room full of paintings, slowly making a puddle of river water on the floor.

By the time the other man returned with a new set of clothes for Elizabeta, Ludwig had passed her a towel and was drying his own hair with another one. "I swear, Feliciano, this is the last time I'm jumping in that river for you," the blond one growled as even more of his hair settled over his eyes.

"But Ludwig, I would have drowned myself before I was able to save the pretty lady, and you are strong," Feliciano replied, his same grin firmly in place as he turned to Elizabeta. "I'm sorry, but I only have my clothes and Ludwig's. Your boots are outside, and should be dry by tomorrow. I can try to fix your dress, but..." He gestured to the sodden garment she was wearing, and shrugged.

Elizabeta smiled despite herself, and shook her head. "No need," she said, as she squeezed her hair out into the towel. "I know when something's ruined. And anything you have is better than nothing."

At this, the small man skipped forward to press a shirt and pair of trousers into her hands, and winked to her as he started off in the other direction. "You take the room across the hall," he called. "Ludwig will show you. Change, and I'll make pasta! Then while you eat I can comb your hair for you!"

"Thank you," she said, as Ludwig opened one of the other doors for her. Inside was a bed and a small table, and that was all, for it was not a very large room. But the window was open and looked out on the garden, the walls were painted with beautiful scenes, and the sunlight came streaming in. She almost wished she could stay.

The bright blue trousers Feliciano had given her fit well enough, but were too long, so she rolled the hems up to her knees. The shirt was a creamy white, soft and well made, and he had even thought to give her a sash to pull both the shirt and trousers in at her waist. And if she was honest with herself, it was the most comfortable she'd been in a long time.

When she returned to the main room, Feliciano immediately sat her down, and put a large bowl of pasta in front of her. "Eat," he said, as he flitted around the room. "It is good pasta, yes?" Elizabeta looked up to see his eyes shining and expectant, so she took a small bite. It was, of course, delicious, and she grinned at him. "Good! Now you must tell me all about yourself! What were you doing in the river?"

"My name is Elizabeta," she said, between mouthfuls of pasta. "I'm looking for my fiancé, Roderich, who has gone missing."

Ludwig, who was leaning agains the doorframe, looked up sharply at the name, but said nothing, and neither of the others noticed his frown. Feliciano had, at that moment, found the comb he was looking for and held it up triumphantly. "Ve, Miss Elizabeta, may I comb your hair? I've always wanted a sister who would let me."

Elizabeta nodded, for the small man had been nothing but kind to her and his friend had saved her, and he was so adorable that she could not think of denying him anything. He kept smiling brightly, and skipped around to stand behind her. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," she said, letting her eyes close as Feliciano ran the comb through her hair, and started picking his way gently through the knots. "He was wonderful, and then one day he hated me. He would go out walking in the snow, and then one night he didn't come home. I don't know what has happened to him, but I will find out."

Feliciano hummed behind her, and she sat silently for a while, eating the rest of the pasta he had made for her. "I'm sure you're tired from all that swimming," he said when he had finished combing her hair, and had plaited it quickly and tying it with a ribbon. "You should rest, and tomorrow, I will show you my garden."

"As lovely as I'm sure it is," Elizabeta said, "I have to find Roderich." She looked up at Ludwig, who was still in the doorway, but the taller man seemed lost in thought. "I'll stay one night, but I must be going in the morning."

So she went back to the room Feliciano had given her, and realized how exhausted she actually was. She curled up in the bed, which was softer than any she had slept in before, and wrapped herself in warm blankets, and was asleep almost instantly.

Whether it was something in the pasta, or the soft bed, or simply the beauty of the morning sunshine spilling though her window, when she woke the next morning, Elizabeta had no memories of Roderich, or how she had come to this house with the painted walls and the garden. She remembered Feliciano and Ludwig, who greeted her in the kitchen.

"Elizabeta!" Feliciano called, running over to throw his arms around her. "Ludwig made breakfast, and then you should come and help me in the garden! And I can show you my paintings, and, ve, will you let me paint you?"

Elizabeta smiled, even as she met Ludwig's exasperated expression. "If you want to," she answered, "But let me eat first."

He let her go, looking sheepishly down at her for a minute before gesturing for her to pass. Ludwig handed her a plate, and both men sat to eat with her. When they had finished, Feliciano dragged Elizabeta to the other room to look at his paintings. "You saw the ones in your room, of course," he said, "But these ones are my favorites." There were many different flowers, all captured in loving detail, and even a few of the river.

One, which was in the center, was of Ludwig, asleep and surrounded by cornflowers the exact color of his eyes. She smiled at it, and Feliciano's eyes lit up. "He wouldn't pose for me, but I like it anyway. He told me not to do any more, though."

"It's beautiful," she said, looking pointedly in the direction of the kitchen, where Ludwig was washing their dishes. "He's just shy, I think. Now about this garden?"

"Do you like gardening?" Feliciano asked, as he led her outside. "I manage, but I've never been very good, and Ludwig tries, but he's just not right for it. I hope the flowers like you!" Elizabeta giggled as he pulled her along, but stopped once her thoughts turned in a new direction.

"I used to tend wildflowers," she said, then blinked once. "When I was small. And there was a little boy who helped me." She stopped for a moment, thinking back, before she caught Feliciano's eyes again. "He wasn't as nice as you are."

At this, Feliciano pouted. "That's sad, Elizabeta. Why wasn't he nice to you?"

"He just liked to tease me," she said. "That's all. Now I want to see your garden, and all the flowers you painted."

So Elizabeta helped Feliciano tend to his garden, and there were many times when she took his hands and showed him the proper way to pull weeds or clip sickly branches. After some time, Ludwig came to join them, and sat with a book in the shade of the oak tree that stood in the center of the garden, pretending he wasn't watching.

When the sun had climbed to the very top of the sky, the three of them ate the sandwiches that Ludwig had brought out with him in the sunlit garden, and Feliciano looked at Ludwig and said, "Tell us a story? Please?"

"Which one?" the blond man asked, a small smile pulling at his mouth. "There are as many stories as there are flowers in your garden."

Feliciano grinned, turned around and hummed to himself as he looked at his flowers. "Which story would the Tiger Lily tell me, Ludwig?"

Ludwig thought for a moment, then said, "They would tell of the mourning Hindu woman, who dances to the drum as her husband's funeral pyre burns. Her eyes shine with tears, and she wonders if the heart's fire is so weak as to be consumed by the flames of the pyre. It is not a happy story, and I do not think you would like it."

"What about the little snow-drop flowers?" Feliciano asked, his eyes hopeful. "Surely they could tell a nice story."

And so it went on, like a game. The snow drops told about a little boy pushing a little girl on a swing, and how she had ribbons in her hair, but the words would be too melancholy for Feliciano. The hyacinths had a tale about three maidens dancing in the moonlight, but they were dead and the bells toll for them, so he would not like it. The buttercups told of an old grandmother, who was left alone by her granddaughter, and even Elizabeta was saddened to hear this, for she felt badly that she had not said goodbye to her own grandmother.

"Are there no happy stories, Ludwig? None with nice, pretty endings?" Feliciano asked, looking very much like he was about to burst into tears. "Why are all the flowers so sad?"

Elizabeta took the young man's hand and squeezed it, and Ludwig reached over and pulled Feliciano into a tight hug. "They live in the ground, where the dead are, Feliciano," Ludwig said, softly. "They only know the stories that the dead tell them. But I know more, for I remember the stories of the living as well.

"So I will tell you a story about the fairies, who live far away. There was one, called Narcissa, who was said to be the most beautiful of all the fairies. But she spent all her time at the lake, looking at her own reflection, and her parents were lonely. So they wished for another child, and they named her Forget-Me-Not, after the beautiful flowers that grew by their home."

Elizabeta remembered this story, for it was one that her grandmother had told her, so she whispered to Ludwig, who she could tell was upset by his friend's sadness, and they made a play out of it. Elizabeta took the parts of Narcissa and Forget-Me-Not, while Ludwig played as the old crone and her son, the fairy prince. By the end of their playacting, Feliciano was laughing again, and kissed both their cheeks.

When Feliciano had gone inside to retrieve his painting supplies, Elizabeta asked Ludwig, "Where did you learn so many stories?"

"I had a brother once, who would tell me stories before I fell asleep," Ludwig told her, his eyes closing as he withdrew into his thoughts again. "I don't know where he learned them, but I remember them all."

There was a short pause, and though Elizabeta knew there was more to this tale, she also knew that she would not hear it. So she smiled and returned to the gardening, and he sat under the tree again with his book, and when Feliciano returned, he set up his easel and painted Elizabeta as she weeded the tulip bed.

They lived this way for some time, though Elizabeta never really knew how long it was, only that there was always sunshine, and a seemingly never-ending supply of pasta. She gardened, Feliciano painted, and Ludwig read, usually quietly but sometimes aloud in his low, rumbling voice. Elizabeta likely would have gone on living in the little painted house with the garden, had Ludwig not woken her one night and pushed her long forgotten boots into her hands.

"My brother was stolen from me, years ago, and I came here when I went looking for him," the man said, looking straight into her eyes. "You have helped me to remember him, so I will help you to remember as well. Do you know how you came to be here?"

At that moment, Elizabeta remembered all about Roderich and her quest to find him, and she nodded and pulled her boots on. "Thank you, Ludwig. I owe you much," she said. "If there is ever anything you need, you have only to ask."

"Find your Roderich," he said. "I cannot leave Feliciano, for his heart would break if he was left alone. But if you come across my brother along your way, tell him where I am, and that I would search for him if I could."

Elizabeta nodded again, and accepted the small knapsack he pressed into her hands. "I will," she said, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. In the dark, she didn't see him blush, and smiled fondly at him. "Take care of each other."  
Then she took the bag and walked out the door and away into the forest before she forgot again what she had set out to do.


	4. Of a Prince and his Fool

Of a Prince and his Fool

Elizabeta walked with the rising sun on her right, in the hopes that Roderich had followed the snow that he had come to love so much, and that lead her though a dense forrest. She stopped after many hours of pushing her way through underbrush and stumbling over roots, and opened the pack that Ludwig had given her.

Inside was enough bread, cheese, and salted strips of meat to last her for a few days if she was careful, as well as three candles, a bit of flint, and a small knife. Elizabeta smiled and whispered a quiet thanks to Ludwig, and cut a small bit of cheese to spread on a piece of bread for her lunch. She found herself missing Feliciano's pasta more and more as she continued on, eating bread and cheese and occasionally salted meat, but it was good enough to keep her going for three days.

When she stopped for her midday meal on the fourth day after that, she found that she had run out, and sighed to herself. However, as only fortune can decide, there was a loud crash only a small way off, and she heard someone call for help.

What she found when she ran over to help was a finely dressed man, with an abundance of blond curls, hanging upside down from a tree by his ankle. He had clearly become entangled in some trap meant for an animal, and could not reach to untie the rope that had caught him. Elizabeta immediately reached for the knife that had been in the bag, and called, "Wait one moment, sir, and I shall have you free!"

"Ah, merci, merci beaucoup!" he called back. Elizabeta found the place where the rope was tied to the base of the tree, and made sure to stand on the rope before cutting the knot so he did not come crashing down to the ground. She lowered him slowly down, then cut the rope from his ankle.

The man regarded her with dark blue eyes, clearly curious. "I thank you, mademoiselle," he said in a thick accent, "But what are you doing out here all alone?"

"I'm looking for my fiancé," she said. Once the knot was cut, she stood and offered a hand to help him up, and walked back with him to the clearing where she had left her few remaining supplies. "He disappeared during the winter, and though my whole town thinks him dead, I don't believe it."

"Ah, so it is for l'amour," the man said, and Elizabeta saw his eyes brighten at the word. "You must let me help you then, for I, Francis Bonnefoy, will do anything for such a cause! You need only name it, and it shall be done."

Francis bowed deeply to her, and Elizabeta could not quite contain the small giggle that escaped her. "Well, I do need supplies." She showed him the small bit of cheese and bread she had left, and he tutted. "This is all I have left. Is there anywhere I can get more?"

"Is that all, cherie?" he asked, his smile only growing. "I work in the kitchens of the prince who lives near here. I will find you much better nouriture than this, and we will ask the prince himself for help in finding your lost love."

Elizabeta simply gave him a confused look. "You know the prince?" she asked, to which Francis merely shrugged. "Then how do you know he will help me?"

"The prince knows much about losing his loved ones," Francis said. "He will certainly understand your plight, and he has magic that can help you. And I have a good friend who can bring you to see him.

"You see, our prince has had many fools in his palace to entertain him, but there was one of whom he was particularly fond. The boy would argue with the prince for hours, and play games or build models, and it was clear to everyone who knew them that they were the best sort of friends. But the fool grew up before the prince realized it, and he didn't want to just be the prince's chouchou, to serve his every whim, and so he left to make a new place for himself in the world. There is not a soul amongst us that does not remember the prince's bitter sorrow over this, though he tried very hard to hide it."

Elizabeta watched the man gesture as he spoke, and felt her heart ache for both the prince and the fool. "Did the fool never return? Did the prince not search for him?"

"There were many times that the prince asked his guards to go out and bring back his fool, and every time they returned empty handed. So the prince learned to live without his friend, and for a few years was miserable and lonely. He was often angry, purely for the sake of not being sad, and when he was even those he knew could only think to repeat back what he said to them, and this only angered the prince more.

Then, not long ago, he disappeared into his rooms for many days, and when we saw him again, he was singing to himself, a song that began, 'Why should I not be married,'. You can only imagine how happy we were to hear this, and even more so when he told us he planned to marry someone who he could call his equal."

Here Francis paused for effect, looking over to see Elizabeta glaring at him in a way that screamed, 'Finish the story and help me on my way, dammit."

"The news spread, and many young ladies came to meet the prince. None of them met his standards. We had lost all but the last strands of hope, when a man pushed his way through the gates, walked right past the line of young ladies and into the throne room, only to start complaining about how the prince had done nothing for his people recently, and that he was disappointed. It was, of course, the same fool who had left the few years before, back as if nothing had happened, and since his return the prince has given up on marriage entirely."

Francis finished his story with a dramatic wave of his hand and a small bow, but Elizabeta merely fixed a skeptical look on him. "That's all well and good," she said, "But I'm not sure I understand you. This is why he will help me?"

"You will see," the man said, as he took her hand and started leading her though the woods. "Mon petit Mattieu will bring you to see him, for the prince is not overly fond of me, and he will help if you tell him what you need. I will, in the meantime, gather supplies for you from my kitchens."

Not long after, Elizabeta found herself being dragged through a side gate, into what appeared to be a small walled city. And yes, maybe there was something green growing in the cracks between the stones, and maybe the walls were a little crooked in places, but she saw all the people bustling about, heard the clamor of more voices than she'd ever heard before, her jaw dropped and Francis easily lead her to the kitchens by the side of the palace, where he sat her down on a stool and told her to wait for her guide.

Petit Mattieu turned out to be significantly taller and broader than Francis, but Elizabeta still didn't notice him in the kitchens until he tapped her on the shoulder. "I've never seen you here before," he said in barely a whisper of a voice, and Elizabeta spun around wildly, and fell into the same stance she'd used in her play-fights as a child. "But any friend of Francis' can't be that bad. Who are you?"

"Elizabeta," she said, relaxing almost painfully slowly. "You must be...Mattieu? Francis says your prince can help me find someone."

"It's Matt, usually," he said, shrugging his shoulders a little and stealing a glance at Francis. "But I'm going to ask you to call me Alfred until we get inside the palace. I'll go with you past the guards, and point you the right way, but after that you're on your own."

Matt watched her steadily, raising an eyebrow as she blinked at him. "Alfred?" she asked, finally, and he nodded. "Why Alfred?"

"Al has full run of the palace, and as of now has neglected to mention that he has a twin brother," Matt replied, smirking a little. "Arthur has met me on multiple occasions, but he's yet to actually remember me."

They both heard Francis scoff from the storeroom behind them. "One day I am going to tell him how disgustingly easy it is to sneak into his rooms," the older man called, "And I will never let him forget it."

"Oh, please," Matt called back, "Then he would fix it. What would you do then? And besides, as long as you don't look exactly like the prince's closest friend, it's actually relatively difficult to break in."

They tossed a few more comments back and forth, Matt following Francis when he lapsed into French, until Elizabeta said, "So, are we going or not? It's getting late."

Matt bit back a curse as he looked out the window and saw that it was, in fact, completely dark, streets illuminated only the occasional lanterns. "You're right," he said, "We should probably go now, unless you want to wait for morning. Wouldn't want to intrude on them while they sleep, would we?"

"Lead the way," Elizabeta replied, and she followed him out the door and down the street. Matt walked lightly, and she found herself struggling to keep up sometimes. But she did notice that a number of people greeted him as Alfred, and that only one or two winked conspiratorially as they did so. "Do they always mistake you and your brother?"

He shrugged at the question, and gestured to the gate, which was brightly lit and stood in front of the looming shadow that Elizabeta could only assume was the palace. A moment later, he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her forward, calling out to the guards as he went.

"Alfred!" one called back, "I didn't know you were out. Cutting it a little on the late side, aren't we?"

Matt pulled a sheepish smile onto his face, then said, in a much louder voice than he'd used before, "I heard my friend was passing through, and I figured I could let her stay here for the night. And I might have gone out the window."

"Again?" The guard sighed in exasperation. "Is there something wrong with the doors?"

"Doors are boring," Matt whined. "And Arthur gets all huffy with me when I climb out the window. You think I'd pass that up?"

Elizabeta was about to interrupt, and ask why Matt was acting this way, but the guard merely sighed again and waved them through. Matt pulled on her wrist, and she followed him through the gate and into the palace. They walked down the corridors, turning occasionally, until Matt pulled them to a stop and pointed at a large door at the end of the hall.

"That is where my brother and the prince will be," he said, finally letting go of her wrist. "I can go no further with you, but I wish you luck. When you are ready to leave, tell Alfred that Francis has the rest of your things."

His voice was once again hushed, and he had slouched again without seeming to realize it. Elizabeta could only blink a few times, then say, "What was that about?"

"You really think you can grow up with someone and not learn to imitate him?" Matt laughed when Elizabeta didn't appear to have an answer. "Didn't you have any siblings? Close friends? Anyone?"

When she still said nothing, Matt merely squeezed her shoulder and departed with a small encouraging smile. Elizabeta took a deep breath as she turned to face the door, and bit back a smile when she saw the unicorn that had been carved into it. She slowly pushed the door open, and saw that the room was dark. She lit one of the candles Ludwig had given her at the lamp in the hall, and considered her options. Once again, she forced herself to the darkened room, for she would likely not be allowed back in, and this would be her only chance to see the prince.

Inside, by the flickering candlelight, she saw the silhouettes of soaring eagles on the walls, and a lion and a great hunt chasing each other in circles on the floor, running between two beds on opposite sides of the room. She chose one at random, unable to see the difference in the dim light, and walked to it as slowly and silently as she could.

The man sleeping in the bed was curled tightly around his pillow, his face barely visible under a mop of blond hair, and his skin pale. She smiled a little to herself when she heard him muttering in his sleep, and thought this must be the prince. When a moment later he shivered, she reached over to pull his blankets up around him, deciding to wait for morning after all, but a few drops of melted wax fell from the candle in her other hand, and onto the sleeve of his nightshirt.

He woke instantly, with a cry of pain, and lashed out at Elizabeta with his fists as soon as he saw her standing over her. His cries woke the other sleeper, a larger man who was at his prince's side in an instant, glaring at Elizabeta even as he murmured comforts into the prince's ear and drew the sleeve with the wax away from his arm.

"Who are you?" The prince's voice was venomous once he found it, and when she looked down at him, Elizabeta was met with a glare from the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. "Don't answer that. Leave, before I have you removed on a skewer."

When the one Elizabeta could only assume was Alfred looked up at her with no less hostility, she blinked and managed to say, "Well, you're definitely his twin..."

"What?"

"Your twin brother," Elizabeta replied as quickly as she could, and curiosity overtook the suspicion in his eyes. "Your eyes are different, and your hair, but otherwise..."

Alfred waved a hand to cut her off. "How do you know Mattie?"

"He was the one that brought me here." Elizabeta sighed upon seeing that the prince clearly had no idea what she was talking about. "The cook, Francis, sent me. He said you could help me."

The prince scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Of course he sent you to bother me in the middle of the night, the ponce. I probably can help you, but honestly I don't see why I should. You've broken into my chambers while I slept and burned me with wax."

"I can only apologize for that, Highness. I meant no harm, I swear."

He nodded, but gave no further comment, and glared when Alfred asked, "What is it that you need our help with?"

"My name is Elizabeta," she began, "and I'm searching for my fiancé, who was taken from me this winter. But I do not know where I can find him, only that I must."

At this, Alfred turned to the prince, who still wore an expression that mixed irritation with cold indifference. "Artie, it would be easier than pie."

"You say that like pies are easy."

"They're easy to eat," Alfred replied, staring straight at the prince with gradually widening eyes. "Oh, come on. You wouldn't even have to try."

The prince managed to stare back sourly for a good while, before he said, "She could have asked at a reasonable hour. It can wait until morning."

"But Artie, she needs us. Now!" Elizabeta could have sworn she saw the beginnings of tears in his bright blue eyes, and bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Please? It won't take long, and I'll make sure we can sleep in tomorrow?"

Arthur held out for another few moments before sighing and tossing his blankets aside. "Fine. If you insist. Come, Miss Elizabeta, let us see what we can find."

"Your Highness, I don't know how to..." Elizabeta trailed off when he waved dismissively at her.

"Call me Arthur. Evidently you are now a friend of Alfred's, and any friend of his is can call me by my name," he said as he crossed the room and trailed a finger over the spines of a number of books, pausing on a few before selecting one. "Besides, the title sounds ridiculous when I'm in my nightshirt." Within moments, he was assembling an odd assortment of herbs and salts on a small table that had been standing in the corner, which Alfred had moved to the center of the room.

The last item he brought was a highly polished silver basin, filled with water and engraved with symbols around the edge. Elizabeta watched in confusion as he mixed, ground, burned and wafted various ingredients into and around the basin, muttering to himself in what could have been a made-up language for all she could tell, before peering into it for a long time. The water moved on its own, swirling and somehow not spilling out f the basin. Arthur stood perfectly still over the water basin, not blinking once, until she as nearly ready to scream in frustration.

"Well, I think I've found him. He's far from here, but wishes very much to return to you." Elizabeta nodded once, and waited for him to go on. "To find him, you must travel as far as you can to the north, and then find a way to go farther still, to a palace that stands on the sea. That's where he is kept, and I warn you, freeing him will not be an easy task."

He shook his head then, and turned to her. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you more. The vision is gone. I can try again?"

Alfred stood behind Arthur, shaking his head slightly, but Elizabeta was already speaking. "No, I've troubled you enough. I know more than I did, even if that isn't saying much."

"I wish I had something better to tell you." Arthur sat down on his bed, clearly tired from the spell, and absently watched Alfred putting his things away. "I can give you a good horse though, and supplies. You may stay here and rest for as long as you like."

Elizabeta curtseyed deeply, and thanked him. "But I must be going in the morning. As you said, I've a long journey before me yet."

"Take my bed for the night," Alfred said, gesturing across the room. "We haven't the time to prepare you your own, and I won't let a lady sleep on the floor. Artie's drilled that much into my head." Elizabeta accepted with a single nod of her head, and, curled under Alfred's blankets, fell asleep to the sounds of their good natured arguing.

"Git."

"Go back to sleep, you creaky old man."

"I'm only three years your senior."

"You sure? I thought it was at least twenty. Or a thousand."

"Oh, shut it."


	5. Of the Robbers and their Captive

Of the Robbers and their Captive

The next morning Elizabeta woke to find Alfred on the floor, wrapped up in what had obviously been Arthur's blanket, while the prince's feet stuck out from under the cloak he'd pulled over himself. She quietly informed the maid that had appeared with breakfast that the two men would be sleeping a while yet, and accompanied her back to the kitchens to retrieve the supplies Francis had promised her.

Matt greeted her from his place in front of the stove, where he was flipping pancakes as easily as breathing, and told her that Francis was in his room putting some last things together. "He should be back shortly, so wait here."

"Shall I help you while I wait?" Elizabeta asked, as she crossed the room and took down another pan. Matt simply nodded, and for a while they stood in silence, cooking pancakes and piling them onto a large platter. They had made a small mountain by the time Francis appeared, his arms full of a pair of stuffed saddlebags.

"I assume that the good prince decided to give you a horse," he said, with a smile. Francis dropped the bags into Elizabeta's arms, and without waiting for confirmation, pushed her out the door and towards the stables. "Don't look now. Let it be a surprise."

The man didn't see her skeptical expression, but she made it anyway. "A surprise? I'm not sure I know you well enough for that."

"I am only trying to help you on your way," Francis said, squeezing her shoulders lightly before pushing her through the stable doors. "Je te promets. Find a nice place in the sun for your luncheon, and enjoy what I have given you."

It wasn't much later that Alfred and Arthur appeared in the stables, where they found Elizabeta feeding even Arthur's muleheaded stallion out of her open palm. She laughed when she saw the surprise on their faces, rubbed the horses nose, and said, "I've always liked them. And you did say I could have one for my journey."

The prince gave her one of his fastest mounts, and they helped her with the tack and her bags before sending her off into the midmorning sunlight. As soon as she was through the gates, she turned north, and felt the wind in her face. As she nudged her horse, the wind played with her hair, and tossed the leaves all around her as she rode off into the forest.

A few hours later, Elizabeta came to an open, sunny clearing, and dismounted, taking the bag Francis had packed with her. She sat down, hoping for anything other than Ludwig's bread and cheese, but the first thing she found was a golden apple, with a tag on the stem which read, 'I'm sure you will find some use for this'. As the sun shone on the apple, she had to squint against the glare, and she quickly stuffed it back into the bag.

"Nice try, principessa," called a voice from behind her, "But we saw that."

Elizabeta startled, and whirled around to see a very familiar-looking man fiddling with a pistol, dark auburn hair falling into his eyes as he did. She blinked once, then took another moment to stare. "Feliciano?"

There was a long stretch of silence as the two stared openly at one another, before the man pulled his thoughts together. "No. I suppose he didn't mention me?" When Elizabeta shook her head, he sighed, and gestured at her horse and things. "I'm not surprised. Let's move. She's coming with us."

"Why?" another man asked as he emerged from the bushes. "She won't cooperate, and it would be much easier to just shoot her and take the bags. And you hate people."

The first stranger rolled his eyes, and said, "Vash, even with your pretty shooting, Toni doesn't like bodies, and she's a lady. Emma, take the horse."

"He isn't mine," Elizabeta said, "But if you let me on my way, I will give you the golden apple right now, for I have no use for it." She pulled the apple back out of the bag and held it out, looking back and forth between the two men who had spoken and the other man and woman who had emerged from the brush after them.

They argued amongst themselves, just quietly enough that Elizabeta could not make out their words, but after long debate the first man took the apple, and shoved her towards the others. "You have news that I would hear, but not here. You're coming with us."

Elizabeta managed to negotiate sending the prince's horse back, and as it galloped off, she followed the small band. She had been frightened to discover that while the first man played with his gun openly, the second, Vash, had at least four or five tucked away on his person. Once she realized that, she watched him checking them constantly on the way back with a sort of morbid fascination. The other woman, Emma, and the tall blond man she was talking at, who carried all her worldly possessions like they were nothing, were much less interesting to her.

After walking for a long stretch through the woods, turning at seemingly random intervals for no particular reason, the party walked into a camp that was far to large to have been as much a surprise as it was to Elizabeta. Upon their arrival, another man sauntered up to them, a playful twinkle in his bright green eyes, and asked, "What have you brought me today, Lovi? A princess?"

"Don't know. Didn't care to ask. Vash didn't shoot her, so you're welcome." The leader of the returning band, Lovi, shoved her towards the man she could only assume was the Toni who so disliked dealing with dead bodies, before walking past with an even deeper scowl than before. A few seconds later, he tossed the golden apple back at Toni, and called out, "She had this. I know how much you like shiny things."

Toni caught the apple deftly, despite the fact that Lovi had thrown it at his head, and twirled it around in his fingers for a few seconds. Then he dropped into a overdramatic bow, the golden fruit vanishing as he did so, and shouted to all the world, "Be nice, gentlemen. She is our guest. My lady, I am Antonio Carriedo, and am at your service from this moment on. You are..."

"Elizabeta," she answered, blinking. "But I'm not..."

"Vash, put that away. I said be nice." Antonio raised an eyebrow in the blond's direction, and Vash reluctantly tucked a small handgun back into his boot and walked off, only to have a small blonde girl throw herself into his arms. "Lady Elizabeta, it was Francis that gave you this in the city, was it not?" Elizabeta nodded, and Antonio's smirk widened. "He has sent you to us, though for what purpose I am not sure. Join me by the fire? I'll get you something to eat, I promise."

Antonio shooed the other bandits off as he guided Elizabeta over to a rather large pile of pillows next to a roaring bonfire, and gestured for her to sit. After running about for a few minutes, babbling about apples and spindles and Francis, he handed her a steaming plate of rice and chicken, all stained reddish brown by tomatoes. "So, what's your story?"

"I've traveled far already," Elizabeta began, "And I am searching for my fiancé, who disappeared during a storm in the winter. All I know is that to find him, I need to continue north, though the prince said my destination was farther north than I would be able to travel, a castle standing on the sea itself. Do you know any more?"

"That's easy," Antonio said with a grin. "You are going to the Palace of the Snow Queen. The way is long, but I may know of one who can help you."

Elizabeta sighed with relief, but then she remembered her last encounter with the Snow Queen, and saw that there was still a shadow of worry in Antonio's eyes. They sat in silence, just watching the fire crackle, for a stretch of minutes as the sun settled to the horizon. "Tell me about your finacé," Antonio finally said, without turning from the fire. "What was he like before he disappeared?"

"He was a close friend of mine, and was always kind and generous. He tried to teach me to be a lady and to do things properly, even though I was never very good at it, and he made the most beautiful music. But I think he tired of my failures, because, well..."

Even as she found she didn't have the right words to describe the transformation, Antonio picked up where she had left off. "He turned irritable, and was often angry for no particular reason? He looked at the things that had brought him joy with disgust? Snapped at his loved ones? Destroyed cherished possessions?"

"How do you...?"

"The Snow Queen is drawn to people like her." Antonio's eyes darkened as he said this, and his cheeriness dissolved. "Frozen on the inside. They can ignore her cruelty, and are attracted to the harsh beauty of her home. She can use her magics to keep the cold away from them, but she barely needs to. I fear you are searching for a man whose heart has turned to ice, and if so, he will not wish to see you or to leave her until you can thaw him."

Elizabeta just stared as Antonio lay back heavily on his pillows and closed his eyes. "Is it possible?" she asked quietly. "To thaw such a heart?"

"Oh, sí. With love and warmth, and sunshine from the soul." Antonio didn't move as he spoke, but Elizabeta could hear a story hiding behind his words. "But her palace is cold and dark, and your love has chosen her. It will be difficult."

"You've done it." He blinked once, twice, then raised an eyebrow. "You have. How? What do I have to do?"

His smile was wry and pitying at the same time, and he shrugged. "It depends on the heart, but you will have to find what it is he loves most, and what can touch his heart even through the ice and the walls and the cold. Make him see beauty even though he will not look for it. If it is not your heart's dearest wish that he come back to you, I do not know how you might succeed."

There was a moment of silence before Elizabeta said, "I must try." Antonio looked up at her and nodded once. Then, in one continuous movement, he stood and pulled her to her feet.

Antonio lead her to the other side of camp and to the base of a tree, where he called Lovi's name two or three times before the other man responded. "Lovi, our guest needs the help of your friend. You need to let him go."

"What for?" Came the reply. "What do I care what she needs?"

"She wants to rescue her prince from the Snow Queen." Antonio let a few seconds pass before adding, "Lovi, you can't keep him here forever."

The dark auburn hair appeared over the top of what must have been essentially a large nest, and then Lovi huffed and said, "Fine, bastard. Just hand over everything I steal. But she has to tell me about Feli first."

They waited for Lovi to climb down, and as soon as he reached the ground he grabbed Elizabeta by the wrist and yanked her towards the trees, muttering something like, "none of that idiot's business." As soon as they were out of Antonio's earshot, he spun to face her. "So you saw Feliciano. He was happy? Looked well?"

"He's perfectly fine," Elizabeta said, "And living with a friend who takes care of him. He has a garden, and cooks a lot. Ludwig tells him stories."

Lovi made a face. "Ludwig? He's still clinging to that bastard?" His tone made Elizabeta nervous, and she started say something in Ludwig's defense, but Lovi waved her off before a sound escaped her. "I know, he's a great guy and really cares, and all that. I get it, and Feli's safe and happy. I just don't like him. He's..."

"I'm sorry. You should go visit him, he'd love that."

The negative reaction she go bordered on violent. "I can't. He won't want to see me." Elizabeta peered at him curiously, and Lovi took one deep breath. "The last time I saw Feli, I... I wasn't myself. He likely has some very unhappy memories of me, and I don't want to bring those back."

Elizabeta merely nodded, placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and pretended she didn't feel him shaking. They stood silently for a moment before Lovi shook off her hand and started walking back towards Antonio, yelling something that Elizabeta couldn't make out at all. Antonio's face lit up though, and he pulled Lovi into a hug as soon as the younger man was close enough. She followed, and was told to follow the pair of them.

In what appeared to be a giant birdcage, though Elizabeta couldn't fathom why, sat another tall blond man, who managed to look even more unhappy than the one who had aided in her capture. A blue overcoat draped over his shoulder, and a square hat in the same color rested at his feet next to a curious pendant and an intricately carved staff. He glared at Lovi and Antonio through square spectacles as they approached, then turned a pair of startlingly blue and sharp eyes on Elizabeta.

"Good evening," Antonio all but sung to him, arm still slung over a grumbling Lovi's shoulders. "Lovely weather tonight, don't you think? Still warm enough to eat outside, but cool enough for good soup. And the breeze is wonderful."

"Who's th'girl?" He asked, ignoring the greeting and babbling completely.

If this surprised Antonio, he didn't show it. "This is Elizabeta. She may or may not be a princess, but she needs your help. I'm hoping that, given it involves your release, that you'll be gracious enough to aid her." The man's face remained stony and he said nothing, so Antonio turned to Elizabeta, and gestured madly. "Elizabeta, this is the East Wind."

"I'm sorry, but... he's the what?" Antonio grinned, and Lovi sighed but neither answered.

"Th' East Wind. I ride 't." The man in the cage His eyes narrowed for a moment as he looked at her. "Berw'ld, if y'like. Where're y' goin'?"

"North." Elizabeta replied. "As far as you can take me. Then I walk."

There was a low grunt from Berwald, and he stood up, grabbing the hat, pendant, and staff all in one hand. "No y' don'. Th' others'll be able t' take y' farther."

"To the Snow Queen's palace?" A pause, and she saw a flicker of even greater anger cross his face.

"Don' know. Th' East Wind isn't strong 'nough, but th' West Wind might be." His brow furrowed as he thought, before he nodded. "G't magic, th't one."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at the idea of more magic, but then considered the fact that she was supposedly talking to the East Wind, and shrugged her shoulders. "Can you bring me to him?"

"Mm. Need m'rider though." Berwald turned another glare on Antonio and Lovi, and Antonio shrugged good-naturedly.

"You didn't think we were going to let you leave, but keep your toys, did you?" Berwald just glared harder. "Relax, friend. You'll have your... contraption."

Berwald merely nodded and made another inarticulate noise they took to be agreement. It took a few seconds for Antonio to find the key to the birdcage, and another few for him to unlock it, with a few minutes of Lovi complaining in the middle, but eventually, Berwald was free. It was then that Elizabeta realized he was as broad as her and Lovi put together, and stood more than a full head taller than Antonio.

The four walked over to the other side of the camp, where Lovi whined a bit more, before pulling an oilcloth off of a large contraption that Elizabeta had never seen before. It stood on a pair of runners like a sledge, but the body was closer to that of a bicycle, with a much broader and more robust frame that one mounted like a horse. The seat even reminded her of a saddle. Berwald walked over to crouch next to it, and ran a hand over all the different parts, before standing and reaching a hand out towards Elizabeta.

"Y' coming?" he asked, when she hesitated. "'t's m' wind-rider. Prom'se 't's safe. Bu'lt 't m'self."

Elizabeta looked over to Antonio and Lovi, then turned back to Berwald. "That's not what I'm worried about. I don't know how to thank you. Any of you."

"Well, Francis payed us for you," Antonio said with a grin. "I hope you don't mind us keeping the apple. It is nice and shiny." Lovi rolled his eyes, but nodded. "And you brought us information, which covers your dinner. We're all settled in my books."

For a moment, Elizabeta looked quizzically back at Antonio, then, when he didn't seem to notice, asked, "What about everything you told me?"

"Use it to beat the Snow Queen, and we'll call it even," he said. "If you can't do it, then it wasn't worth much to you anyway, sí?"

She turned next to Lovi, who said nothing, but held her eyes for a moment before nodding once. "I mean it," Elizabeta said. "You should go. He likes hearing stories, and he'll listen to yours." All she got was another nod, but his scowl wasn't quite as deep when she turned to Berwald.

"They let m' go," he said. "B'cause 'f you. I'll take y' 's far 's I can." He reached a little farther towards her, and she took his hand.

After Berwald had settled her onto the seat, and draped his overcoat over her shoulders despite her protests, she twisted around and said a quiet "Thank you," to both Antonio and Lovi. The taller man then climbed onto the wind-rider behind her, and reached around her to fit his pendant into the indentation, where it spun for a second before settling.

"Points 's home," Berwald said, before he let out a long piercing whistle, and tugged on two of the cords that he had running behind her back. The wind-rider, even with two passengers, leapt up onto the breeze that had kicked up, and sped off smoothly through the sky, in what seemed a roughly north-westerly direction.

Elizabeta pulled Berwald's coat closer around her, leaned back into his chest for warmth, and closed her eyes, trusting herself to the East Wind and its rider.


End file.
